


The External Monologue of Jack Rackham

by tyomawrites



Series: Monologues [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: I started liking Jack too much it put my Vane and Flint fics on hold, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 11:54:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17703815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyomawrites/pseuds/tyomawrites





	The External Monologue of Jack Rackham

‘Calico’ Jack Rackham, scourge of the seas. It has a nice ring to it. Charles isn’t in his fort—in his empty, abandoned broken fort—so far away. Charles is out, seizing ships and supplies for the rebuilding of the fort, Jack, he is stuck in Nassau debating his want for a legacy. Charles may have been armour for him when Anne had left, and between his retrieval of the Urca’s gold and his need to pretend that his decisions don’t weigh heavily on him as they do.

Anne will not, cannot love him in the way she loves Max, and Charles, Charles is untouchable outside of their rooms, their cots.

He’s never felt more alone

Charles returns, and with him is a wave of silent fury that fills his voice as he yells across the brothel.

“Please let me explain?” Charles shoves him into his room up the stairs, glares and looks at him with so much anger he wants to

“What is there to explain? You couldn’t figure out how to repair the fort, so you lured me into capturing a ship full of slaves to do the job”

“It was the first solid lead on a slaver we’d had in weeks. I needed someone who I could be certain would win her.”

“So you lied to me about it.” He wouldn’t lie, not really, not to Charles, but a lie by omission is still a lie. “What the fuck made you think I would just hand them over to you, knowing what you know of me?” He knows, the fact spins around his head over and over again and guilts him until bile rises in his throat.

“The three of us stood in this room you, Flint, and I and we agreed that the fort's restoration was critical to Nassau's security.”

“We agreed you would hire men to restore it.”

“I tried that!” He usually never raises his voice, at least, not to Charles, so it surprises him just as much as it surprises Charles.

“You're going to need to try harder!” Charles shouts in his face, and his teeth are slightly bared.

“How? I offer the men exorbitant wages to do the work.” Jack inhales sharply.

“Do you know what they say? _‘You can afford more. We want double that._ ’ All right, double it, it's a deal. Fuck it. You know what they say then? _‘You can't tell us what to do. We're free men. We'll work when we please.’_ would you like to take a guess how that is going? It's five different crews, it's hundreds of men, untold thousands in wages, and I swear to God, I think that hole in the wall is bigger now than when we started.”

“I stood between you and him, Jack. When Flint was ready to wage war against you over the gold, I was the one who said you would manage it as well as anyone could. For the good of this place, I was the one who said you could be trusted.” Even if Charles doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, Jack can see that he’s hurt, that he feels betrayed by the fact that Jack even considered slaves as an option. But what choice did he have, men who lived on Nassau barely wanted to rebuild the very thing that could protect it, and none of his crew wanted to take on that burden, and he himself couldn’t rebuild the walls on his own, not forever.

“Why? Why did you stand behind me in that moment? I'll tell you why. Because you and I had been through enough shit for you to know that I would do the same for you, that I have done the same for you, and would again without hesitation. I made a commitment to _you_ , with you, to restore this place, to make it strong again. I see no other way to have it done. And I will have it done. I will move heaven and earth to have it done because I refuse to let you down. I knew this would be difficult for you, so I kept it from you.” He plants his hands onto the table, grips it until his fingers pressing into the wood, against the grain of the table.

“Please know that I meant no slight by it. No lack of respect or friendship. It's quite the opposite.” He knows that in his voice it’s a plea of fear. Charles means more to him than anything, than anyone, except maybe Anne who’s standing opposite Charles.

“I didn’t do it to hurt you.” Charles is sitting with his back turned to him and his head dips. He stands, he moves towards the door, and looks at him once more before he leaves and then Jack is left in silence.

He’s sitting among the gold when Charles finds him again. He’s hoping for comfort, warmth from the cold, glittering metal because he can’t go to Anne, and Charles, he wouldn’t wish himself upin Charles at the moment, couldn’t force himself—couldn’t force Charles to be around him. He can’t have warmth from the warmer things in his life, so he seeks it out from something else.

“Your slaves are making progress.” He lifts his head, barely. Charles is seeking him out, and for what reason, he can barely fathom.

“You know I take no pleasure in it.” If he even felt the slightest bit of joy and pleasure from it he’d turn his pistol on himself. "If there were any other way—"

“Jack, if I thought it gave you any pleasure, I'd have killed you the moment you suggested it. Hmm.” Charles sits next to him, their thighs are touching and their shoulders brush against each other. Even through the thin fabric of shirt he can feel how warm Charles is.

“The first moment I saw it on the beach, I thought, _My God, the things I'm going to build with this._ A city alive in a place it has no right to be, in defiance of all reason and refusing to be dislodged, but growing and a place that, 50 years hence and when I'm long gone would force the world to acknowledge _Jack Rackham was here_. I swear to God, when I sit here long enough, I can hear it laughing at me.” He can’t really look at Charles, doesn’t feel anything except guilt and regret right now. “You don't have to be here, you know. I have made it clear to all involved they are to be treated fairly.”

“You think if you refrain from beating them, it's any better? It isn't the violence. It isn't the labor or the hunger or the heat or the chains. You know what those men fear right now? It's the unknown. Lash that comes from nowhere for reasons never explained.”

“Charles.” His hands are picking at each other in his lap, nails peeling at the skin around his thumbs. As if he didn’t have enough guilt wracking at his gut, Charles’s words cut deeper than he will ever know.

“A visit from the taskmaster in the dead of night. But I remember that fear. Right now, I feel it returning. What we're doing here, sitting on Spain's gold on England's island, demands a response. What that response will be, what form it will take, what face it will wear by the time we do know it, there will be no time to prepare for the blow that follows. Hmm.”

“I’m sorry. Charles.” Charles doesn’t move but Jack’s insides twist, the tangle and he can feel bile rising in his throat. He shifts, pulls his thigh away from Charles, and that’s what gets him to move. Charles picks up one of his hands and holds it between both of his own.

“I’m still angry with you, and you understand why.” His voice softens. He curls his fingers against Charles’s palm, inhales sharply and nods. “But I still, I still love you.” It’s not the first time he says it to him, but it’s the first time Jack doesn’t have any doubts for his words whatsoever. He shuffles, slides closer to Charles. Charles cups his cheek with a hand, tilts his head towards him and kisses him softly.

Jack doesn’t like Edward Teach. He talks down to him, but more than that, he talks down to Charles— and Jack, Jack can’t stand for that. His fingers twitch when Teach chastises Charles, spits words that make Charles’s fingers tighten. His other hand falls off the table and fingers the handle of his cutlass, slides along the grip of his pistol and he wants to blow a hole into Teach’s head.

But he won’t. Lord he won’t but he wants to so much.

Charles doesn’t join him when he retires to his bed, Teach’s words rattle around in his head for more than necessary but Jack can’t fight them at all, not if Charles doesn’t want him to. He sits in his bed, his bare back against the headboard and his fingers slide over the grip of his gun again, and again, and again.

He’s tempted, but then Max pulls him from his bed with a warning cry of an approaching Governor and then he’s pulling on his clothes and already forming a plan in his head. Charles is quiet, deathly so as he explains his plans to the others. Featherstone is afraid, he can see as much. Anne looks at him like he’s crazy but she has faith in her eyes. Max looks proud, but Charles— Charles can’t meet his eyes.

He presses on, explains in depth the pros of his plan. His faith is enough to stop his voice from wavering, but he doesn’t know if it’s enough, not without Flint.

“Is it? You want us to combine our forces and engage a fleet of a half a dozen ships, and you want us to do it with six guns supporting us from the fort so that we can frighten the British Navy into retreat?”

“We understand there are eight ships, not six. Yes, to the rest of it.”

“Jesus Christ, Jack.” Why is it that no one listens to him when he’s the one who’s been defending Nassau and has been doing everything to suit everyone’s interests. He’s not a pliant ruler by far, nor is he a tyrant.

“Uh, if I may. It stands to reason that if we threaten to defend this place, then we need to have a plan to follow through. If the bluff is called, then we—”

“There is no bluff here. If we can discourage them from engaging, so much the better. If not, we fight to protect the island.” Charles stands up for him, and it soothes the confusion in his chest, but only for a moment.

“With who in command of the fleet? No one's seen Flint in weeks.” Flint, fuck if Flint were here Jack would be on his damn knees begging for the man to help him knock some sense into the other captions. He would beg with his hands clasped for some form of solace against the stupidity of others.

“When he hears news of the invasion, he'll return.” He would. Flint would. He would lead them to a victory and Jack would be _right_.

“But if he doesn't? No man has his skill in leading a fleet in battle. Not even you.”

“What the fuck's the matter with you people?”

“We haven't done enough for you? You turn your back on us now?”

“You can see his point, though. If no Flint, the strategy involved in coordinating this fleet will be—”

“That's enough. You, sit down. And the rest of you, please listen closely.” He has to interrupt. The idiocy of these people never ceases to fail him. How they became Captains astounds him. “I never approved of Eleanor Guthrie's harsh mothering of this place. I believe my record on that issue is in good order. That said, if you're going to behave like children, then I will be your daddy.” The confidence and annoyance in his voice rings through the room. The fact that he has to take charge of such task, to defend Nassau makes him more of a man than those sitting before him with doubts. The rest of them can fuck off for all he cares.

“When this meeting breaks, I will address the street, your crews, and I will persuade them that a defense of this place isn't just desirable, it is critical to their ability to call themselves men. I'll have them in such a state that any captain in this room who speaks in opposition to this plan opposition borne from what? A fear of losing. Will not long call himself captain.” He leans over to prop his hands onto the table as he meets the eyes of every man into the room. “Hmm? I'm committed to this. Charles is committed to this. Captain Flint will be returning soon. He is most committed to this.”

He straightens abruptly as a chill runs down his back. “And if that weren't enough, you will recall that Anne and I,”—His sweet dear Anne who stood by him even if she doesn’t love him anymore, who can’t marry him but will stand by him until they’re both in the ground—“Have put thousands of pieces into your pockets in contemplation of the day when your cooperation would be called upon to defend this place. That day is today, and you will answer the call.”

“Flint is dead.” Oh fuck Teach. Fuck his ability to upstage everything that Jack has fucking done to secure himself the confidence and power he needs. Fuck Teach for shaking the very foundations of success that their victory relied on.”

“News was in St. Kitts. Went down in a storm, pursued by the leading edge of this invasion force, the pirate hunter by the name of Benjamin Hornigold. Before anyone commits to anything, just know that you'll be doing it without Flint. But I may be able to offer an alternative.”

Teach and Charles leave the room and Jack, against his better judgement doesn’t follow. He slumps into his chair, wishes his hair was long enough to hide behind, or that he still had his hat with him so he could tip it over his head. Fuck Teach, and fuck the hold he has on Charles.

Charles is leaving him. The condition that Teach supports them in place of Flint, is that Charles leaves with him after it is all over. Jack won’t admit to Charles that it hurts him, will never do that no matter what they have between them. Between preparations for the new Governor's arrival with Teach’s strategies and his idea of a united front, he wouldn't even have the chance to tell him that if he leaves, Charles will take his heart with him and all that will be inside him is blackness, bone and dust.

He won’t admit it, but he needs Charles more than ever. Doubt creeps and drags at the corner of his minds and his dreams, like dark spots, a vignette surrounding his vision and darkening it. The shadows that surround his bed at night claw at his legs, his hands, his eyes, his throat and when he wakes it’s to his own fingers, his own nails clawing into his skin.

Jack Rackham, has always been afraid, but it was never his fear that caused him to fail, it wasn’t fear that caused him to doubt. He only ever doubted when there was a lack of faith. A lack of trust. The entirety of his life was built on trust. Anne trusted him, he trusted Anne. Charles trusts him when he’s just a young man scrambling for a place in his crew. He trust Charles to hold a knife to his throat when he’s at his most vulnerable and trusts him to save him, whether it be by sparing him or killing him.

Trust was—is—always—will be—the only thing he ever needs.

_People put their trust in him and he will return that trust tenfold._


End file.
